I didn't think the morning could get any stranger.
I was wrong.
Breakfast was already laid out by the time I finished mentally rehearsing a dozen apologies for existing in my boss's house overnight. The dining area looked warm, lived-in—sunlight spilling through tall windows, the smell of coffee and something buttery and sweet lingering in the air.
And I stood there like a misplaced extra.
Elena was already moving around the table with an ease that screamed this is my brother's house but I still run it when I'm here. She had rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan, hair loosely tied, completely unbothered by the fact that this was technically not her kitchen.
"I really should make breakfast," I said quickly, the words tumbling out of me the moment I saw the spread. "I mean, that's literally my job, and—"
"Oh no," Elena cut in cheerfully, placing a basket of bread on the table. "Too late. I got up early. Jet lag does that."
I opened my mouth again.
